laggard fashion. His brow is darkened
by a frown: his whole expression is moody and oppressed with
discontent.

As he sees Clarissa, his features--as though compelled by a powerful
will--undergo a complete change, and he smiles, and comes forward with
outstretched hand to greet her.

"Horace! you here again, and so soon?" she says, quickly. Surprise
lends haste to her tongue. She has believed him in London; and now to
see him thus unexpectedly, and without the usual friendly warning
conveyed by letter, causes her not only pleasure, but a vague
uneasiness.

"Does it seem 'so soon' to you?" replies he, in a carefully inspired
tone. "To me the last two months have appeared almost a year, so
heavily have dragged the days spent away from Pullingham."

It is a very stereotyped little sentence, old and world-worn, and
smacking faintly of insincerity; but when a woman loves a man she
rarely measures his words.

"I seem rude," says Clarissa, with a soft smile. "But you will
understand me. And you know you told me you did not intend to return
before Christmas."

"Yes, I know." He is silent for a little while, and then, rousing
himself, as though by an effort, says, slowly,--

"Did you miss me?"

"I always miss you," returns she, simply: "you know that." She flushes
warmly, and lets her long lashes fall leisurely, until at length they
hide from view the sweet confession of her eyes. There is a pause that
embraces a full minute, and then she speaks again. "You have not yet
told me the reason of your return," she says, gently.

"I wearied of town," replies he. "A strange acknowledgment for one
like me, but true. For once, I honestly pined for the country--insipid
as I have always deemed it--and craved unceasingly for something
fresh, new, innocent, something unused to gas, and the glare and
unholy glitter of a city."

He speaks bitterly--almost passionately--and as though for the moment
he has altogether forgotten the existence of his companion. An instant
later, however, he recovers himself.

"I felt I should be happier, more fitted to cope with my work, if I
could get even one glimpse of you!"

"Are you not happy, then?" asks she, gently, her heart beating fast,
her color growing and lessening rapidly.

"Happy? no. Can a man be happy while a perpetual doubt distracts him?
Can he know even the meaning of the word Peace, whilst devoured with a
fear that he shall never possess the one great good he desires?"

Aga